New Flash: Michael Jackson Still Dead

I have not had much personal experience with death. I've only been to a handful of funerals in my life and I've never had a socially acceptable reaction to death.

The first funeral I remember was for my paternal grandmother. I was probably ten years old at the time. I remember snickering involuntarily at the service. I remember feeling both relief in expressing some kind of feeling and at the same time feeling ashamed of how I had expressed it. I now realize that I just didn't know how to deal with the sadness I felt and it had just "leaked out" in an innappropriate way. She was the first person I ever lost who left a space in my life where before there had been love.

In high school, I attended the funeral for a peer who had been an acquaintance. It was a Catholic funeral. Never having been exposed to a Catholic service of any kind, I was unprepared for the choreography that took place in the church that day, constantly kneeling and rising. (Note to self: the vats of water outside the church are not ashtrays.) The priest droned on, reading phrases that had been read hundreds of times before. My friends who knew the deceased better than I had were in tears, yet though I felt sadness, I remember feeling mostly confused. I wondered what all this kneeling and rising and reading had to do with our lost friend.

My maternal grandmother passed away a couple of years ago. I was unable to attend the service, but I had always felt a kindred spirit to her. She was a very offbeat woman, who always lived outside the norms. Perhaps this is why I felt so close to her. She was never afraid to let people see who she was. She wore her eccentricities like beauty pageant sash. She had her shortcomings as we all do, but she was never afraid to say "I love you". She always made me feel special. Love her or hate her, she let the chips fall where they may. She never pretended to be someone she wasn't. I was grateful to have known her and I appreciated all the love she showed me. When she died, the sadness was deep, but still I didn't cry or become paralyzed with sadness. Instead, I cherished her memory and to this day, I think of her with great fondness.

Then there are celebrity deaths. I get angry about the attention they receive. I remember the day that Princess Dianna was killed. One of my friends welled up with tears as the television news repeated the story. There was an unwritten rule that we should be sad for the rest of that day and I could not come to terms with that. I did not know her. She did not love me. Every day millions of people are born and millions of people die. Why was her death any more important than any other in this world? Why was her body to be paraded around while throngs of admirers sobbed in the streets? She was a person like any other and to me, no more deserving of all the attention than the death of the woman who was my grandmother, or anybody else in this world for that matter. She lived and she died, just like all of us.

For years I have wondered what is wrong with me. Why don't I take death more seriously? Why do I shrug it off so easily? Am I out of touch with deep emotions that I have pushed down to far to feel? Am I just ignoring my true feelings or are these my true feelings? Finally I have come to understand that death is a part of life, just like all the other parts that go along with it. I also think that much of the sadness we feel is really for ourselves and how our lives will be changed, rather than for the actual person who has passed. And the more I think about it, the more I think that letting ourselves get carried away with emotion is really just selfish and self-serving. It's not a tribute to the deceased, but perhaps just a realization that our own time is approaching and that makes us uncomfortable.

For me, I realize that my sadness is selfish - a reflection of the loss I feel and the hole that is left in my own life. It is not a tribute to the person who has died. The best way to honor the dead is to raise a glass and toast the memory of someone - to thank them for the influence they had on your life and to use that influence as you live your own life.

So Michael (and yes, you Farrah, Ed, Billy and Danny) here's to ya. Thanks for the music. Thanks for the camraderie I felt as I sat silenced in front of MTV watching Triller with my friends for the umpteenth time. Thanks for the joy I felt as I cranked your latest cassette on my mom's Cadillac stereo as a teenager. May we all be inspired to continue to share our talents with the world, however small they may be. Now, let's get on with it.